Doubt Dream Defy
by Andre Lehnertz
Summary: Those that fear doubt, dreams and defiance, are three parts dead. Those that don’t, strive to paint their own destiny and create their own ending. This is just the beginning… [A continuation of the Princess Tutu Series][Contains Spoilers][PUT ON HOLD]
1. Prologue

**.: Doubt Dream Defy :.**

.: Prologue :.

An ivory glow irradiated from the skies fusing heaven with vale; the moon was full. Its unmatched beauty, although adept in executing a stir of veneration deep within the soul, failed to astonish the little duck wading in the shallows of the lake. She was unperturbed by the sight. Her golden feathers had been slightly ruffled with a passing breeze. Her thoughts, though vague and unclear, were mirrored by a pair of cerulean eyes - delicately framed with welling tears that refused to fall. Her heart cherished a love, unprofessed and unrequited, bound by silence.

As time elapsed slowly, ominous clouds danced precariously close to devouring the constellations. A flash of lightning and roar of thunder shattered the lengthy stillness.

Rousing from her inner thoughts, the little duck turned her head to the direction of which she'd heard the noise. The heavens were black; rain started to pour.

A silhouette appeared; a young man running from behind the trees closed the distance between the water's edge and himself. Recognition flickered in the cerulean eyes.

Minutes merely elapsed as the rain continued to fall; both duck and boy sodden.

Eventually realising the creature did not have any intention of returning to the banks, the young man walked into the water. Wading to almost waist-high, he reached her. The colour of emerald locked with that of cerulean. No words exchanged; he picked up the petite creature and withdrew from the bleak waters.

He half-walked, half-ran through the woods; arms drawing the duck closer to his chest, in a helpless attempt to shield her from the rain. Warmth radiated from his sodden body; instinctively she huddled closer.

Swift strides were brought to a halt. They had reached their destination; their Home.

The young man headed to his room in search for a towel. Fishing one out of the wardrobe, he wrapped it around the creature he'd been holding all along; her frame quivered beneath his touch. When she was dry, he placed her in a basket beside his bed and proceeded to the bathroom to dry himself off.

Neither had said a word nor made a sound… yet

The young man returned with his dark hair tied back and clothes dry; a look of utter irritation plastered his face.

"Ahiru, why on earth did you…" he stopped mid-sentence; the basket was empty… again.

Sheer dread replaced irritation. Eyes darting; dread soon subsided to relief.

On his bed, beside his pillow laid Ahiru, curled up in a ball. Her head was tucked under her wing; an even rise and fall of form suggested that she was fast asleep.

Sighing, Fakir sat at his desk. A lamp dimly lit his working space occupied by inkwell, quill and paper. He reached for his favourite quill, dipped it in ink and rested it on a sheet of white. But struggling to yield a string of words, the momentary pause caused black to bleed onto the page. Frustrated at the lack of words, Fakir finally surrendered his resolve to write and moved to the window.

Although lightning and thunder had stopped, rain continued to pound maliciously on the glass; the calm of water streaming with ease in the might of a storm. But, like the duck, it did not seem to move him; his gaze was not fixed on rooftops or horizon; he was pondering through thoughts that soared aimlessly in his mind.

It had been almost a year since the end of the tale that was expected to conclude tragically but did not. The treacherous Raven was defeated and the order of Kinkan-Chou, restored; the Prince chose his princess, subsequent to the retrieval of all the lost pieces of his heart; the knight defying fate, survived and finally the disappearance of a jovial girl lacking the skills but not heart of a ballerina was replaced with the appearance of a little duck.

'She should learn to let go…' Fakir began to think silently to himself.

Ever since Ahiru revealed to him, her secret identity as Princess Tutu and later, her true form as a duck, Fakir knew the risks involved if she persisted to save Mytho and challenge destiny. He knew that Ahiru loved Mytho but could never tell him; for fear that she would vanish in a burst of light. However, she sacrificed her capacity to transform from duck to girl for him, so that he could slay the Raven. With the Raven slain, he recognised his Princess, his love, as Rue and not her. Although the couple were grateful, they soon departed leaving Fakir to care for the little duck.

Ahiru, so as to pass time, spent her days on the lake. Fakir would accompany her, writing as she swam alone. He wrote stories in the hope of bringing joy to many people. None were tragedies, most were comical, adventurous and occasionally romantic; all beginning with 'Once upon a time…' and ending with '…happily ever after.'

The two rarely conversed. Fakir, who was normally absorbed in his writing, was never quite good with idle chatter and now that Ahiru was a duck, a simple conversation proved brutally difficult. So the days were long and lacked entertainment. But, occasionally, the writer would read his completed works to the duck who sat listening intently, hanging onto his every word.

Several times, Fakir found himself longing to write a story about Ahiru but was unsure as to why his desire was particularly strong. Perhaps, as he assumed, he believed Ahiru deserved a better ending - she deserved to be a girl, to be happy and to be loved - or because he believed it to be his job, to write stories; but never did he allow himself to indulge in the thought that maybe, possibly, in spite of all rationality, that he had begun to develop feelings for her.

Again there was a repetition of the words he didn't want to hear, 'She should learn to let go…' before a faint echo of '…or perhaps _I_ should,' intruded his thoughts.

He knew from Ahiru's behaviour that, although she was genuinely happy for the Prince and Princess's union, including everyone else's happy ending, she still loved Mytho deeply and could not help but recall memories of when she was still a girl at Kinkan Academy. This constant struggle often isolated her and left her dwelling in loneliness. Fakir wished that she would let go of the past, and so, finally bringing an end to his procrastination, he tried to write a story for her.

The story was never begun. He could never find the correct beginning; without a beginning, there could never be an end.

He never consoled her regarding the issue of forgetting the past and looking forward to the future because he understood that she found refuge in recollecting and reliving happy memories; but moreover, that it was difficult to stop loving someone has deeply as she did. He would overlook the situation altogether, in vain.

He knew his place to help her and he had failed.

Turning to see her still sleeping form relieved him. She had run away this night; he had noticed after waking from a disturbing dream and not finding her there - in her basket. He thought he had lost her; panic had settled in the pit of his stomach. He went searching - everywhere. When, at long last, he reached the lake to find her there, he wanted to yell at her and yet he refrained; simply picked her up and brought her home.

He never questioned her; it was unnecessary. He could read her like an open book.

Diverting his attention away from inner reflections of failing Ahiru, Fakir could feel the dreaded weariness that accompanied lack of sleep. Not wanting to disturb the little duck, he returned to his seat, cleared up the mess at his table and switched off the lamp.

The nature of sleep soon seized the young man as an eerie presence engulfed the remaining corners of darkness.

.: _An assembly of hooded figures scurried over the fields in gloom. They had come for the one man they feared. Not a King nor the Devil, simply a writer who possessed the unimaginable power of a God - to write stories that could bend reality to will._

_This man had altered many people's destiny. Although he had used his ability to give people what they desired, it was not enough to save him from the chastisement of the townspeople._

_Noblemen tried to bestow him with riches and property, promising their daughter's hand in marriage to him, in the hope that it may compensate for the deeds he had done for them. But more so, in the hope that he would not be angered and eradicate their fortunes and desires._

_He was not moved by these gifts. Thus, he was a dangerous man to control._

_The townspeople agreed that tonight would be the end of the writer's reign. They raided his home and found no one there. He had escaped with his only son. They separated in search for him. Ironically, it was the group of noblemen that found him - the ones whom he had brought from peasants to nobility._

_His hands were severed. They left him dying._

_In the last moments of his life he turned to the clock-tower. He dragged himself up the stairs and wrote on every wall with his blood. It was to be another story; to save him from the vulgar clutches of death._

_When he finished, he managed to pull out a piece of parchment with his blood stained stumps. He chose a vacant section at the bottom of the West wall and sealed the parchment with wax, in the hope that it would not be tampered with._

_Cackling, he left the town and died. His corpse, never found._

_Soon, the townspeople forgot his name, forgot his stories, and forgot that he still had a living son._

_His bloodline didn't run strong. He had but one descendant left; one who denied his ancestor's requests and endeavoured to make an ending of his own to the last known story the old man had begun and failed to conclude._

_However, like all stories, there lies a twist. Devious and cunning, no one could tell what really went on in the mind of the dead author. He had unfulfilled plans…_

_Besides, His name was Drosselmeyer and should never be underestimated._ :.

Fakir woke, sweating; it was still dark. He couldn't remember his dream; only blood, anomalous laughter and the remnants of seeing a piece of parchment sealed with wax.

Terror lingered in his shaking frame. 'It's just a nightmare… just a nightmare,' he repeated to himself.

A screech echoed in the room, startling the young man. He turned to see two red eyes staring back at him. A raven stood only meters away from Ahiru, its beak gnashing threateningly. Fakir lunged at the bird, which eluded his grasp and flew out of the open window from which it had come. He locked the windows, suspicious that it'd been unbolted, and approached the still sleeping Ahiru.

His emerald eyes scanned her form attentively; she wasn't hurt. Relieved, he picked her up and laid her on his lap as he sat on the bed. He wouldn't be able to sleep now. Recurring nightmares and unexpected visits from red-eyed ravens were unpleasant and troublesome. Though he knew there were hidden meanings; he was unsuccessful when it came to deciphering them which disturbed him greatly. Nevertheless, having _her_ in his arms provided him with comfort.

Outside, a pair of eyes surveyed the duo. They narrowed slightly.

Sensing a feeling of being watched, Fakir searched the window; he saw nothing. An uncanny voice echoed in the back of his mind: _'This is just the beginning…'_

* * *

Disclaimer: I've never had the honour of calling Princess Tutu, "Mine!" On the contrary, my younger sister prefers to believe it's hers… even when it's not! 


	2. Flower of Lines Unknown

**.: Doubt Dream Defy :.**

.: Flower of Lines Unknown :.

Washes of mauve and pink enveloped the skies; remnants of the night chased away by common light. Scattered clouds of morbid grey lingered in the distance as an acrimonious winter chill settled in the environs. Bitterness gnawed at its company; trees cringed in secret, rabbits burrowed deeper into their homes and birds choked on their song.

Tired eyes which had tended to a little duck for quite some time shifted slowly from the sleeping form to the windows. The curtains, slightly ajar, let rays devoid of warmth flood into the young writer's room. Sunlight pooled in the crevices of the wrinkled quilt; pushed aside to make room for the feathered creature that stirred feebly as she was removed from lap to linen.

The writer shifted from his position bit by bit, taking care not to wake his companion. When, by a long while after he had successfully distanced himself from the bed, he concentrated not on aches that gripped at his frame. It was dawn; too soon.

Fakir drew the curtains aside; the thin glass behind it was covered in morning frost. Absent-mindedly, the young man brought a finger to the smooth surface and began tracing a pattern; it took the form of a duck. Liberated musings diminished as realisation swamped the conscious mind; the lines were quickly wiped clear.

Aware of the mistake made, Fakir let out a heavy sigh and opened the window. Caught unawares, he gasped at the chilly air that smacked him squarely in the face, stinging his eyes and invading his lungs. He stood there, unmoving; waiting patiently for the sun to rise.

A draught advanced unto the room. Unsolicited iciness tickled at Fakir's nose and throat prompting him to sneeze fairly loudly, waking Ahiru in the process.

"Quack, quack, quack…"

Ahiru's signature quacks seized Fakir's attention almost immediately; he turned just in time to see a yellow tail disappear into the depths of the white quilt.

Normally, the young man would return to his gazing, seemingly oblivious to Ahiru's discontent. Today, however, he chose to punish the little duck for her follies of the previous night or rather, share the experience of a tranquil moment with her.

Striding to the bed, Fakir lifted the quilt with one hand and swiftly reached for Ahiru with the other. Surprised by the second rude awakening, Ahiru flailed her wings vehemently at the writer. Her erratic behaviour hindered Fakir's ability to keep a firm hold on her and, within seconds, she was back on the bed again.

Slightly shaken and quite displeased, Ahiru quacked furiously, chastising Fakir as best she could despite the fact that she was still, just a duck. Her aggravation clouded her sense of direction; clumsy as she was, she tripped over her own feet and rolled off the side of the bed.

All the while, Fakir who had been expressionless up until now, dived for the little duck.

"Quuuaaa…"

A pair of hands moved under Ahiru.

When the anticipated encounter with the hard floor was not met, Ahiru opened one eye slowly, then the other. Instead of seeing a crushed beak between her and the wooden floor, she found herself staring into the emerald orbs once more. A flicker of emotions unknown passed between the two as a heavy silence settled amongst their surrounds.

Rising from his kneeling position, Fakir retreated to the window, bringing his dear companion with him. Still holding her firmly in his hands, he brought her up onto the window sill.

From the height of their home, Ahiru could see very clearly the beauty of the heavens and the rising sun. It was almost like a painting, if not more exquisite. Perhaps awe would have been the only word apt to depict the little duck's reaction. A smile came to her beak; a genuine one; a long-awaited one.

Fakir observed Ahiru and smiled a rare smile too.

The pair stood watching the sunrise together.

'This was what I wanted to show you…'

The thought was left unspoken.

* * *

Unpredictable weather conditioned the couple to remain indoors. Fakir, deep in thought, was drafting the beginnings of a new story, whilst Ahiru pecked restlessly at the very little birdseed left in her bowl. The silence between them was almost unbearable.

"QUACK!"

"WHAT!" Fakir yelled out; unaware that Ahiru had jumped onto his desk.

Startled, Ahiru fell backwards and knocked over the inkbottle that was being used. Black ink inundated the working surface; Fakir's latest draft spoiled in the process.

"AHIRU! How many times have I told you! DO NOT DISTURB ME WHENEVER I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING!" Fakir roared.

Ahiru froze. "Qua… Qua…" she stuttered quietly, before silencing herself and looking down at her feet.

A rush of guilt overwhelmed the writer.

"Ahiru… I'm, I'm sorry," Fakir said hesitantly, despite his efforts to sound like his usual self.

Ahiru looked up at the young man. The impression of a faint smile formed on her beak, "Quack."

Fakir returned the smile with softened facial features. "Perhaps…" he began again, "after this mess is cleared up, we could… we could take a walk… outside."

Cerulean eyes lit up at the suggestion. Very rarely did Fakir suggest leaving the house; the task was often left to Ahiru to persuade him to accompany her for walks in town or to the lake. The little duck concurred, nodding her head vigorously.

When the mess was cleared, Fakir put on his coat and followed Ahiru's lead out the door.

Once on the streets, a chilly breeze whirled around the couple. Ahiru, preferring to walk for the time being, waddled a few steps in front of Fakir. Together, they wandered aimlessly past shops and cafés; mostly empty.

Regrettably, their leisurely stroll was cut short. Grey clouds moved quickly into view; within minutes rain started to fall. The duo hurried their steps; rounding a corner and seeking shelter under a portico in front of a small but modest looking coffee shop. Ahiru fluffed her feathers whilst Fakir brushed off the droplets that were caught on his coat; neither noticing a young lady stepping out of the shop.

"Hello."

The couple turned, they were greeted by the young lady, whose long brown locks were swirled into a bun pinned high on her head. Her honey-brown eyes smiled warmly at them.

"It's a little nippy for you to be standing out here. How about a table for two?" she asked politely.

"Quack," Ahiru answered.

Fakir looked at the duck and nodded his agreement, somewhat doubtful of his decision.

The young lady showed them inside to a table nearby, "My name is Fidēs and welcome to my café: Vergissmeinnicht Café."

Fakir and Ahiru looked around. It was a cosy shop, quite elegantly furnished. The walls were ruby in colour with gold lanterns positioned evenly around the room. Tables were evenly spaced; each decorated with a white vase holding a posy of blue, pink and white flowers.

When the couple were seated, Fidēs proceeded to ask for their order.

"Coffee…"

"Quack, quack…"

"…and a hot chocolate, thanks," Fakir filled in for Ahiru.

"Very well," Fidēs said as she wrote in her notepad and moved off to get the drinks ready. "It won't take long," she smiled.

When Fidēs was gone Ahiru quacked her opinion of the young shop owner.

"You like her?" her companion guessed.

Ahiru nodded, expecting Fakir to agree. He didn't.

A few minutes elapsed as the duo waited for Fidēs 's return. Ahiru began to poke at the flowers with her beak. The flowers emitted a sweet fragrance that tickled Ahiru's senses and prompted her to sneeze.

Fidēs returned, beaming, "They're beautiful aren't they?"

She placed the coffee and hot chocolate on the table as well as a plate of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

"But we didn't…"

"Compliments from the café as my first customers," Fidēs interrupted.

"Quack!" thanked Ahiru as she started on one of the cookies herself.

Fidēs smiled, glad that the young man's friend was content with her baking. She saw, however, that Fakir was not all that keen to try them himself and stayed with sipping at his coffee.

"They're beautiful aren't they?" Fidēs repeated.

"What flowers are they?" Fakir asked, gesturing the young lady to sit, out of courtesy rather than want of company.

"Vergissmeinnicht, Forget-me-nots," Fidēs replied, sitting herself down, gazing at the posy and touching the petals of a pale blue bloom. "I named the café after them."

"Quack?" Ahiru started curiously, mouth still full of cookie crumbs.

"She means 'why?'" Fakir translated.

The girl's smile turned slightly melancholic. She was a lot younger than Fakir had first thought; perhaps only a year or two age difference between them, nothing more. She took the flower in her hand and looked intently at it.

"We were childhood friends and our dream was to open a little cafe of our own," she began slowly. "But one day he told me that he had to leave, he never told me why, the only promise was that he would return. I promised I would wait. We promised each other so much then," she said with a smile. "When we said our farewells, I gave him my locket. He had nothing to offer me, except a Vergissmeinnicht."

"Where is he now?" Fakir asked, despite his usual practice of keeping his questions to himself.

"I don't know, it's been three years," Fidēs replied sadly, "I haven't given up. I know he'll return one day. That's why I named this café 'Vergissmeinnicht,' so that he'll be able to find me when he does."

There was a slight pause.

"But enough about me, I don't even know your names yet."

"I'm Fakir and this is Ahiru."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Fakir and Ahiru," the young lady said returning to her former self again. "But I had better leave you two in peace. I think you've heard enough from me today," she smiled.

Fakir nodded his thanks and finished his coffee, Ahiru doing the same with her hot chocolate.

It had stopped raining. The two stood, said their goodbyes and were about to leave when Fidēs called after them.

"If you ever have time, stop by here more often," Fidēs said with a smile.

Fakir and Ahiru nodded, waving goodbye as they moved onto the streets once more.

* * *

The afternoon was spent quietly at home again, in front of a small fire burning in the fireplace. Ahiru sat on the rug and Fakir settled in his comfy armchair.

Night matured early. Ahiru was fast asleep by the time the stars were visible to the naked eye. Fakir watched her as he normally did.

Peaceful silence shattered when the sound of banging windows was heard; powerful winds and heavy rain pushed at the glass, intruding gusts disturbed the flames, distorting the shadows on the wall. However, instead of attending to the violence of the weather, Fakir's attention was ensnared by the appearance of the same raven he'd seen the night before. Its horrid form was perched on the mantelpiece. How it had come to be there was beyond any speculation Fakir could have conjured.

The crimson orbs bored into emerald ones. A chill ran down Fakir's spine, unease settled in the pit of his stomach.

There was a message the raven intended on delivering; Fakir knew not what.

Suddenly the bird took flight, out of the window and without thinking the writer followed it. Street-lamps lit his way as he ran. He followed the shadow, unsure where it would lead. The bird moved at incredible speeds, Fakir never really being able to see its actual form, though it seemingly waited for his presence before moving on.

Suspicious, Fakir pursued his chase after the bird. When finally the bird had eluded his sight, he found himself standing in front of the clock-tower. Memories of his nightmare flooded his thoughts; blood, parchment and clock. A peculiar feeling engulfed his better judgement and he forced open the heavy door. He proceeded up the winding staircase which would lead to the clinking, clattering gears of the timepiece. Every step he took furthered the anxiety concealed in the back of his mind.

Upon reaching the top, the raven which Fakir had thought had disappeared, swooped at his head. He ducked too late and the talons of the horrid bird grazed the side of his head, drawing blood. His hand moved to feel the wound; the writer flinching to some degree when his fingers touched the newly exposed flesh.

"What is it that you want from me?" Fakir yelled at the bird, his voice bouncing off the walls.

The raven merely narrowed its crimson-coloured eyes and pointed its beak in the direction of the west wall. The message was clear.

Fakir moved to the wall. Kneeling, he shifted closer to the worn surface so that his face was only inches from it. His hands coursed over it, feeling for something he doubted even existed. The raven observed his every move.

Minutes elapsed but still no find. He was about to give up when, by accident, he felt an unusual waxy texture beneath his fingers. He grabbed a broken piece of wood he'd found lying on the floor and began to scrape at it. The dried wax peeled away; a thin sheet dropped to the floor.

The thin sheet in hand, Fakir unfolded it. A mixture of dread and uncertainty pulsed through his veins.

On the parchment were maroon stains; blood which had dried from passing time. There was no title, no date, no name, only a few lines of writing. The emerald eyes scanned the calligraphic words:

Once upon a time... thus began again.  
The sky that sparkled sprinkled not the rain;  
Whilst full moon graced fields and forms - alone.  
A wonder on the wave, water became bone;  
Rage, did the winds, as spoken snow lay coy.  
Silent tears fell - she - bereft of joy.

The shock of 'never' ripped through his being;  
"How could she haunt my hours of waking?  
It tears at my heart and gnaws at my soul.  
Yet, as I observe my sphincteral flow,  
Crossing vales of my own ignorance,  
I've grown to savour her lingering glance."

Through hatred by love, and love thus defined.  
When, by time his words were known; tell, he tried...  
But - gods have no pity - who would have thought,  
Lost was the chance and destiny would wrought,  
Upon his unyielding path once more, of  
Violent thrashings in the throes of death - hereof.

With furrowed brow, borrowed time, peril vied,  
And unleashed upon the world - blood dimmed tide.  
He, plagued by the lowly sense of failure,  
Which masked the answer and hid the cure,  
Deduced it clear of how he must be,  
"The gods hath chosen; they hath chosen me."

"Should it be that sacrifice breaks the curse,  
Think of it not with sorrow, woe or worse."

"This I do, not for myself but for you..."

The hand unconsciously crumpled up the parchment, yellowed from age. It was undeniably a beginning; lines unfinished.

Fakir turned to the raven again but it had disappeared; only a few black feathers graced the floor. Recalling that he had left Ahiru alone, he hurried down the stairs and onto the streets. The parchment was stuffed rather roughly into his pocket.

The young man who was soaked to the bone dashed past corners, oblivious to the stares of the townspeople under umbrellas and porticos. The discovery of lines by an unknown author did not comfort the thoughts racing though his mind. He was fearful of many things, but the worse being the threat of Ahiru's safety.

His heart was racing but his composure was still somewhat intact.

When he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. He felt his breath catch in his throat. Only meters away from the front door of their home laid Ahiru, not in the form of a duck but a girl. She was naked and lifeless.

Fakir swallowed the lump in his throat and ran to her, removing his coat and covering her frame with it as best as he could. He brought her into his arms, tears stinging his eyes.

"A… Ahiru!" Fakir stuttered overcome with urgency.

It was a momentary pause but for the terrified young man, it was comparable to eternity. He brought his arms tighter around Ahiru, his dark hair mingled with her own of bright orange. He leaned closer to her, whispering her name and choking on his fear.

"Ahiru!" Fakir cried out.

Suddenly he heard a cough. He loosened his grip a little, "Ahiru! Ahiru! You're alright!"

Her cerulean eyes met his own. He closed the distance between their bodies as he hugged her tightly, blinking back the tears.

The exhausted girl found herself in the embrace of the young man. Devoid of strength and unable to raise her voice, Ahiru moved her lips closer to Fakir's ear and whispered faintly, "I'm sorry. I only wanted to look for you…"

* * *

I hope that this chapter is not too badly written. 

Special thanks to: anyone who has taken an interest in this story. The encouragement to continue this has been exquisite. So I apologise for the delay in updates.

Also Special thanks to reviewers: chao-chan101; Madelyn xD; ExoticLittleFlower411; Cassandra Mortilla; izumi-chan; Manda-chan; iNUYASHAS-onlylover-KAGoME; Dreamgirllogan; pookie-poo and Rashaka. (Your support has been unbelievable!)

* * *

Disclaimer: I've never had the honour of calling Princess Tutu, "Mine!" On the contrary, my younger sister prefers to believe it's hers… even when it's not! 


	3. One Boutique to Two Girls

**.: Doubt Dream Defy :.**

.: One Boutique to Two Girls :.

Sound of rain beating against thin glass complemented the roaring thunder, as occasional flashes from heavenly summits illuminated the small bedroom: fading light lapping at the seemingly lifeless body that lay on the bed. Only the repeating pattern, a small rise and fall of her chest under the mass of snowy covers, assured the writer that she was simply asleep. His shadow scuttled across the sheets as he lowered into a nearby chair. Leaning forward slowly, he rested elbows on knees, head in hands - the weight of blame crushing his very soul.

Upon looking up, his gaze fixed onto the young girl, desperate for any signs indicative of her waking.

The wait was longer than anticipated and very soon, Fakir began to imbibe the softened features of Ahiru's face. In sleep, she looked peaceful and yet he could still detect the lingering allusion of unhappiness. Her flaming hair, still a bit damp, was pasted messily around her face, to which the gentle hands brushed away and carefully placed behind her ears.

Unsolicited was the longing that breached several precincts of Fakir's moral fibre when his eyes, tracing the lines of Ahiru's fair face, came to rest on pink lips. It was then that he had to turn away, disregarding desire as trickery - which ought not to be trusted.

Nevertheless, even with his back to Ahiru, the thought of her could not be driven away. The scene of finding her on the street kept replaying in his head; his reaction, her apology - her reason for leaving the safe confines of their home echoed in the back of his mind. '_I'm sorry. I only wanted to look for you._'

Certainly, what had been said was genuine, for he could recall hearing her concern. However, despite this fact, to Fakir it became even more concerning.

He understood the repercussions resulting from untamed emotions. Perhaps too well and, thus, would not allow feeling to overrule rationality under any circumstance. Yet, the nature of his actions contradicted this very practice and, had liberated a side of him that he had meticulously masked with sneers and absolute indifference; the dire truth being, Ahiru was the trigger to begin it all.

A flurry of questions assailed the writer, countered by illusory excuses. 'Is she not still in love with Mytho? Of course, she is… but when did her words, her feelings become a concern for me? No, it's not possible; I could not care less about what she says or how she feels. It was a mistake, _my_ mistake. I had acted without thinking…'

Realisation clouted Fakir; his conviction of his feelings for the girl crumbled beneath him.

For the duration of their time together, Fakir had ensured that his feelings for the duck were simply based on the duty of protecting her as he had promised; it was an obligation and nothing more.

The foundations of their relationship were carefully constructed; from the very beginning, he had treated her as an acquaintance. Their first few months together deemed the most difficult, each not able to understand the other. Her profound optimistic but selfless nature had often agitated him.

However, as time progressed, he had learnt to tolerate and accept it. The connection between them soon thrived to become something more; they were good friends. Still, he disliked the familiarised term, 'friends' and thus rarely used the word.

Perhaps it was the company he lacked, her persistent temperament, or the work of an omnipresent being but no matter what it was, his view of her had changed: strengthening the bond between man and duck.

'But she isn't a duck anymore,' argued logic.

It was true; she was not a duck any more. She was a girl.

A cough shattered Fakir's ponderings. He turned to see Ahiru rising and swiftly moved to her side.

'Ahiru, are you alright?"

Ahiru clutched at the quilt that covered her chest as Fakir helped her shift into a sitting position; fingers careful not to brush against her skin.

The poor girl struggled to answer the question, so she nodded instead.

He was relieved when he saw her response and deciding it better not to bombard her with questions for the time being, insisted that she rest.

Ahiru did not protest. Very soon, she was asleep again.

The stir of comfort was replaced by unease as fingers met the abandoned piece of parchment once more.

Emerald eyes studied each line carefully; determined to find an explanation for the changes occurring.

* * *

Morning greeted the town; Ahiru felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and the hushed reiteration of her name. 

Instinctively, she sat up as her eyes, clouded from sleep, fluttered open. She stretched her arms in an attempt to drive away the weariness, unconsciously letting the snowy covers tumble down her chest and crumple at her waist. A murmur pf words muffled by a stifled yawn followed, "Oh, Fakir, I had such a bad dream last night. I thought you were gone and I went searching for you a… a… and… I turned back into a girl again…"

Silence…

"F… F… Fakir?" Ahiru stammered as she rubbed the haze away from her eyes and saw clearly that her companion had his back turned to her. "What is it Fakir?"

Silence… again.

'How pathetic is she!' the less-than-kind side of the writer yelled to himself as rising heat teased at his skin.

Nevertheless, stating the obvious was not an option, especially if the poor girl is dim-witted enough to miss the _minor_ detail that she had not encountered the gross clutches of a nightmare and indeed, had transformed back into human form.

So, sternly, Fakir hinted as best he could without crushing the girl's spirit, "Ahiru, look at yourself!"

The girl obediently followed the given instructions. She smiled at what she saw. Her fingers feeling lips instead of beak, arms instead of wings, toes instead of webbed feet, and skin instead of feathers. Happily, she squealed, "Fakir! I'm a girl again! It wasn't a dream, it was real!"

Although he still had his back to Ahiru, Fakir could feel her excitement engulf him and he, too, smiled but he sustained his stern approach as he continued rather coldly, " Moron! Of course I know the dream wasn't real, otherwise I wouldn't have my back turned to you!"

Ahiru ignored the derogative title that Fakir proceeded to use, blushed, and covered herself as best as she could with the quilt.

"You can turn around now," she said shyly, her blush deepening in colour.

Fakir didn't move, instead his hands renowned for writing, tightened around the white bathrobe he'd been holding for quite some time. A moment passed before he shook his head and placed the piece of clothing on the foot of the bed.

"It's the only thing I could find for you to wear, for the time being."

With that, he moved to the door, abruptly halting when he heard a faint whimper of, "Where are you going?"

Sighing, he replied sharply, "I have some things to do, I'll be back soon… and _stay _where you are until I get back," before leaving the room, without a backward glance.

Ahiru, though slightly disappointed by Fakir's reaction, proceeded to cover her bare shoulders with his bathrobe. The garment clung to her form and flowed down past her knees, reaching the wooden floors and developing into a small train of white around her.

A smile adorned the delicate face as long legs wobbled to the open window. 'Hmm… did Fakir write a story for me?' Ahiru wondered.

Outside, melodic chatter exchanged between two bluebirds left Ahiru in a slight trance, oblivious to the lingering gaze of emerald eyes below.

* * *

Fakir rounded corners and walked down streets, all the while thinking of Ahiru and taking care not to step into the puddles left behind by the storm. 

'It wouldn't have been appropriate for me to turn around anyway…' Fakir consoled himself, 'besides I… it would be hard to…'

Words simply eluded the young man. Nevertheless, his contemplation of all the reasons possible to explain himself ended when he reached his destination - a small boutique he'd passed many times but never thought of entering.

Fakir inhaled deeply, 'I suppose there's always a first for everything.'

The chime of a bell sounded as he stepped into the shop.

Looking around, the boutique was spacious and stylishly decorated. Two large windows occupied by mannequins dressed in the latest fashion overlooked the street. The colour of russet carpeted the floors, contrasting with walls painted gold. Smaller chandeliers framed a fairly larger one that hung in the middle of the pale ceiling. A red-cedar counter stood in the centre of the scope, whilst a row of clothes ran along the walls like a border from one side of the room to the other. The fashion between genders, were divided at the back by a wide passage with dressing rooms and mirrors.

The shop looked empty.

All of a sudden, a fusion of purple and white swept past Fakir; sending the young man into a spin before he steadied himself, staring at a rather feminine face.

"Oh! Welcome, welcome! Welcome to 'Faber und Faber,' the best boutique in Kinkan. I am Fleance, and how may I help you this fine morning, sir?" asserted, whom Fakir assessed, as the shop assistant.

The fellow strongly reminded him of Femio. His hair was shorter and darker in colour, his eyes were plum, complementing his lilac suit perfectly, but other than that, his height and mannerisms resembled that of the vainglorious classmate of his.

When Fakir failed to formulate a response, Fleance did his best to compensate for the stillness.

"Sir, I don't believe I've seen you before in my father's shop, are you looking for something in particular? For a formal occasion, business or… to impress a girl perhaps?" Fleance winked, beaming.

Fakir, startled, felt the momentary heat lick at his cheeks. His face remained indifferent though, as he answered, "I'm looking for some things… for a friend of mine."

"Oh! So not for yourself, sir?" Fleance said, bringing a hand up to rub his chin, looking as if he was half in thought. "Well, is your friend a 'miss'?"

Fakir nodded once.

"Very well then, have you anything in mind? Did she say what she would like? What colours does your friend prefer? Any styles you might like to see on her?" Fleance questioned as he dashed to the right side of the shop and started to run his hands through the numerous items of clothing that were in sight.

Fakir paused, the heat in his cheeks raged dangerously. "I… I'm not sure."

Fleance twirled around gracefully to face the writer. "Not sure? Hmm… how about…" the fellow pulled out the pieces he named, a smile, larger than before stretched across his face, "…a white cambresine blouse and matching yellow skirt? Alternatively, how about an éolienne dress, a sweater with a plissé finish? Perhaps a…"

Fakir stood watching the clothes pile up to the side of Fleance as he continued to make suggestions.

When, finally, Fleance had finished, almost half of the clothes in the shop were in a heap on a nearby table.

"So, what would it be?" Fleance asked, flushed from talking so much.

Fakir walked to the heap and grabbed what he could find and thought would be appropriate for Ahiru. He picked out from the heap, a few shirts, skirts and shorts; consisting of colours, white, pale yellow, blue, pinks and purples. He hoped that they would fit.

The clothes chosen, Fleance happily placed them in bags, calculated the price and collected the money from his customer. He handed the bags to Fakir.

"I'm sure your friend will love these!" Fleance smiled. "Oh, and if there ever comes a time when you need something for yourself or your friend for that matter, you can always come in, we tailor suits and dresses as well, especially for formal occasions!" he added as the chime of the bell sounded again.

Fakir stepped out of the boutique. Sighing, he started his walk back. He wondered what Ahiru was doing.

* * *

Fakir had nearly reached home when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He hurried and heard the footsteps change pace. He rounded the corner sharply, the footsteps following until they halted abruptly, and losing balance, the two bodies collided with the pebbled street. 

"Who are you?" Fakir questioned forcefully, "and why are you following me!"

When the two girls tilted their heads up to stare and the menacing figure that loomed over them, the sound of dropped the bags echoed in the lane.

"Pique? Lilie? What are you doing?"

Both girls stood up slowly, looking at each other then at the young man in front of them.

The girl with blonde hair whispered to the one next to her, "It's your fault Pique; if you were any quieter he wouldn't have noticed us!"

"No it isn't, it was your fault! Don't put the blame on me," Pique countered, equally quiet.

"No, it was your fault…"

Fakir, on the other hand, tired of the bickering and still waiting for an answer, intercepted the two.

"What are you two doing?" the question uttered in an irritated tone.

"Oh, well…" Pique began.

"We were following you to see if you would lead us to Ahiru!" Lilie finished for her.

Both girls smiled sheepishly.

Fakir raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

The two girls looked at each other questioningly, shrugged their shoulders and turned to Fakir with suspicious stares plastered on their faces.

Their looks confused the young man.

"You do know that school started a week ago and there hasn't been any sign of either Ahiru or you yet…" Pique explained.

"Why… why would…?" Fakir started, perplexed.

"Neko-sensei told us to find Ahiru and tell her that she has to attend class tomorrow or else she'll be expelled!" Lilie interrupted.

Fakir remained silent.

"Well, do you know where Ahiru is?" Pique pressed.

"Yeah, we don't want her to be expelled… _forever_!" Lilie emphasised, although there were a few twinkling stars lurking in her green eyes; obvious that she was foreseeing the torment Ahiru would suffer if she did undergo expulsion.

"…yes," answered Fakir, when he finally found his voice again. "Yes, I know where Ahiru is."

"Good, can you tell her then!" the two girls said in unison.

Fakir merely nodded.

"Good! We'll see you two, tomorrow!" Pique and Lilie beamed, waving goodbye to Fakir, who nodded once again before gathering the bags, turning on his heel and walking away.

When the young man was out of earshot, the two girls whom he had left behind in the lane exchanged a couple of their thoughts.

"He seemed… confused, don't you think?" Lilie proposed to the girl beside her.

Pique nodded her concurrence. "Maybe he really forgot that school started…"

The two girls turned to face each other again, "Weird!" they laughed as they returned to the Academy.

* * *

The clock tower chimed twice by the time Fakir made it to the front door of his home. He turned the handle and, pushing it wide open, he was about to take a step forward when he was roughly knocked over and pushed backwards onto the ground. For a moment, he laid fairly still, only lifting a hand up to meet his head when he had come to his senses; his eyebrows knitting together, as he felt an unusual feeling of something, or someone who was rather light and warm, wriggling atop of him. 

He opened his eyes two see the familiar cerulean ones blink back.

'I should have known!' Fakir groaned to himself, shaking his head slightly to eliminate the light-headedness caused by the collision.

"What?" Ahiru asked innocently, as she struggled to get off the young man, who by now was feeling rather uncomfortable.

"AHIRU! _GET _OFF OF ME!" Fakir bellowed at the girl, as he sat up and forced her off him. He stood up, gathered the bags for the second time that day, and proceeded into the house. Ahiru followed silently, closing the door behind her.

Once inside, Fakir continued to his room, Ahiru, trying to explain herself and failing miserably.

"I saw you coming back! So I ran to open the door for you… uh… so I didn't stop quickly enough… I didn't mean to… umm… fall on top of you…" Ahiru said, blushing.

The colour in her cheeks subsiding however, when she noticed that Fakir did not appear to be paying much attention to her.

"…are you listening?" Ahiru finished.

When he did not answer, she threw him a malicious glare, before sighing, bowing her head and dragging her feet up the stairs.

Once he had reached the door to his room, he turned around. Ahiru, who was still looking down, stopped just millimetres from colliding with the body in front of her again. She looked up at Fakir questioningly, who shoved the gold paper bags into her hands.

"Here…" he said, tiredly.

Ahiru looked at the symbol on the bags, "Faber und Faber?"

"They're for you," he explained, ushering her into the room before he proceeded downstairs again.

Confused, Ahiru set the bags on the bed. Her interest as to where her companion had gone when he had left ended when she discovered the contents in the bags. She smiled a little as she admired all the garments Fakir had bought her.

'He went through all this trouble for my sake?' Ahiru thought to herself, her smile growing a little more.

After trying on each piece for size, Ahiru decided to change into a white turtleneck sweeter with a silver outline of a duck stitched in bottom-corner and a long matching skirt. She returned the remaining pieces in the bag, smoothed out her dress and proceeded downstairs to meet Fakir.

"Ahem…" Ahiru coughed quietly to contract the writer's attention.

Fakir looked up at her as she descended the stairs, "They fit then?"

Ahiru nodded.

The two moved to the dining table and sat down.

Ahiru was about to speak, when Fakir interrupted her and spoke first, "I bumped into Pique and Lilie."

"Really!" Ahiru exclaimed, forgetting that she had wanted to assert her thanks before she forgot.

"They told me, that Neko-sensei told them to tell you, that you're expected to attend class tomorrow or else you'll be expelled."

"What!" Ahiru cried out, "But, that's not possible; all the animals were restored to their original forms, even Neko-sensei. Besides, no one remembers me anymore… or at least I thought they'd forgotten about me..."

"That's what I thought too," Fakir began, prior to his memory reminding him of the early stages of an unfinished story on the parchment he now possessed.

"What should we do?"

"If they expect us, we shouldn't disappoint," Fakir answered simply, waiting for the girl to agree.

"Ok," Ahiru chirped cheerfully. 'I'm going to see everyone again!' she thought; the peculiarity of the sudden changes, forgotten.

"You should gather your things, we'll be heading to the Academy early tomorrow morning," Fakir suggested as he got up, out of his chair, and headed for his room.

"Wait!"

Fakir stopped, "What is it now?"

"Oh, I… I want to… thank you, Fakir, for buying me these clothes…" Ahiru stuttered, her hands fiddling with her cotton sleeves.

"You're welcome," came the somewhat rigid reply.

"…and, and for writing a story for me," she completed.

"What?" a look of seriousness pierced the poor girl's confidence. "Who told you that?"

"No one, I just thought…" Ahiru started, wrinkling her nose in thought, "…wait, so you didn't write a story for me, to change me back into a girl again?"

Fakir was not sure how to respond, so he simply said what came to mind, "No, I didn't."

"Then who did?" Ahiru questioned worriedly, hoping that the answer was not 'Drosselmeyer.'

"I don't know," Fakir answered truthfully. Then, sensing Ahiru's unease, he softened his expression. He walked up to her and brought a hand to her shoulder. Worried eyes looked up to meet his. "It doesn't matter who it is that's started this," Fakir said reassuringly, "I will do anything to keep you out of harms way. It's a promise I'm willing to keep…"

Ahiru smiled at his words, the sense of fear vanishing, "Thankyou."

Then, taking Fakir's advice to get, what little she had, ready for tomorrow, Ahiru made her way to the stairs.

His emerald eyes followed her form until she was out of sight. A melancholic smile pulled at his lips, '…with my life,' he vowed, 'with my life.'

* * *

This chapter is simply one that, for lack of a better word, acts as a 'joining' chapter. I suppose moves the plot along without rushing it. Some foreshadowing is in play, which will lead to a rather interesting chapter soon. Nevertheless, I do wish you had enjoyed this. (Hopefully, more than my sister who chose to criticise this chapter for its lack of movement.) 

Special thanks to: anyone who has taken an interest in this story. The encouragement to continue this has been exquisite. So I apologise for the delay in updates.

Also Special thanks to reviewers: izumi-chan, hakuchou-san, i.swear.to.drunk.im.not.god, Avelera, Eyesopen, Dreamgirllogan, Manda-chan, Itsy-Evil-Spiders, Garshgrl and coolberyl. (Your support has been unbelievable!)

* * *

Disclaimer: I've never had the honour of calling Princess Tutu, "Mine!" On the contrary, my younger sister prefers to believe it's hers… even when it's not! 


End file.
